


bloody hands, bloody heart (oh god please give me a new start)

by aleccbanes



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Blood, Brainwashing, F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, SO, ask to tag, these were written over a year ago when ppl were theorizing that damien was felicity's dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8495005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleccbanes/pseuds/aleccbanes
Summary: A collection of Arrow ficlets/unfinished works from when i was more involved in the fandom.





	1. lay my head (under the water)

**Author's Note:**

> Hola!
> 
> You know the drill by now- this was written a while ago, i still like it, wanted to post it here now i have an account, you can find me on tumblr @bisexualmbane, yada yada yada i love felicity smoak yet i only write her in pain sorry.
> 
> (lots of s4 theorizing as these were written a year ago-and yeah im no shakespeare but everything in here would've been a better plotline than olicity breaking up and laurel dying)

The fluorescent lights paint the black tile an eerie shade of blue; highlighting the interlocking honeycomb pattern on the floor. The only sound is that of a light bubbling, like that of a kettle being boiled, which bounces off the walls. He watches. He waits. Lounged in his office chair like a cat in the midday sun. One leg crossed over the other, the foot touching the floor idly swinging him from side to side. Taking just him in, with his slightly rumpled suit and tense expression, one would think that Damien Darhk is simply a businessman who has had a long day. Which, if we’re not dwelling on technicalities such as the six dead bodies lying around him, isn’t exactly that far from the truth. He’s always been a businessman, ruthless to his core. And, if the blood coating his hands and face is any indication, it has been a hell of a long day.

If the walls hadn’t been soundproof the ring of Star City’s new clock tower would be resonating throughout the room. Twelve chimes. A new day.

Darhk rises like a man possessed on the first of the unheard chimes. Slowly making his way towards the large, basin-like structure he has been watching so intently for hours. His steps are unhurried, calculating and deliberate. His eyes never leave the basin as he walks; he doesn’t even blink as he kicks a limp and bloody arm out of his path.

The bubbling is deafening now. It drowns out his footsteps as he ascends the few stairs to the rim of the basin. He leans forward and places his hands on the edge, feels the hot liquid splash his fingers. He hadn’t wanted this. But he has to make the best of a bad situation. He is a businessman, after all.

On the final chime the room goes silent. The thunderous gurgle ceases. The water stills and Darhk doesn’t move, doesn’t dare breathe until-

The water shatters. She rises, her dark hair in wet tendrils down her back, her arms spread out in crucifixion. And as the last of the water escapes her throat she throws back her head and roars.

Darhk remains tense, watching her head lower as her scream and its echo die; watches her shoulders heave in exertion. He watches. He waits.

Slowly she turns. Her head is angled slightly downwards as she faces him, water catching on her brow-line and avoiding her eyes. Eyes that are focused solely on him. She assesses him, calculating and unhurried. He lets her. Lets her take in the rumpled suit, his red hands and face. Her eyes flick from his hands to the sprawled bodies on the floor, some of them so mutilated that one might doubt they were ever even human. Her neck straightens and her eyes flick from the decapitated head of Lonnie Machin, that is nailed to the far wall with an arrow, to meet his eyes at last. There is no doubt he is the one that did this. But she does not look afraid or even vulnerable; simply curious.

Wordlessly and without dropping her gaze, he slips off his suit jacket and holds it out across the water for her to take. She hesitates for only a moment, but goosebumps are covering her bare arms with increasing intensity, so she takes it; their fingers brushing, and slides it over her wet arms.

Her voice is raspy as she speaks “Did I die?”

Damien nods slowly. There’s no point in lying. Most who come back from the dead are confused and easily manipulated. But her eyes are sharp; her head tilt the only inclination to any disorientation.

He’s not going to speak. He needs to know what she knows. Needs to know how to play this game and win. He watches. He waits.

Her eyes have fallen to the left, a furrow between her brows, she’s trying to desperately to remember everything. Her fingers are dancing at the hollow of her throat; as if she was expecting the flesh there to have remained torn.

“My name…” she whispers “It’s Felicity. Right?”

Another nod. Watching. How much does she know? Waiting. Until-

Her eyes snap to his suddenly “Dad?” She croaks “Daddy, who killed me?”

Damien’s smile is kind and comforting. Inside, he howls with vicious joy. She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know.

He holds out his hand and she does not hesitate to take it, grasping his fingers tightly; eyes pleading. He pulls her from the water and folds her into his arms. Strokes her hair. Holds her tight. The picture of fatherly security. And into her shaking head he whispers;

“The Green Arrow killed you, honey. It was Oliver Queen.”


	2. deal with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felicity makes a deal with the devil. it's not going to go well for either of them.

“You could save her, you know.”

The yellow dress is quickly staining red, and his voice is as smooth as the blood slowing overtaking the fabric in a sickening wave. Neither of them had believed in a single entity known as the devil before tonight, but that’s what the man standing behind them is. He is nothing like any belief describes, yet somehow embodies all the ideologies of evil. There had been no smile on his face when he had pulled the trigger, yet amusement had danced in the ice of Damien Darhk’s eyes as they both fell to the ground in two different types of pain.

She’s dying. Blood bubbling at her lips and bursting with each fading whimper. She’s been the light of so many people’s lives and now she’s going to die on a rooftop in excruciating pain. The sirens are too far away, the bullet is most likely embedded in her spine. She’s going to die.

“Just say the word. Make a deal with me and she’ll never suffer again. Isn’t that what you want? What you’ve always wanted? For her to be happy?”

But she could be saved.

There is no choice to make. Not really.

Felicity looks up from her mother’s convulsing body and spits at the Devil “Deal.”

****

Donna Smoak is found walking down an empty highway just outside Star City less than 3 days later. Barefoot and dressed in white satin, she is silent all the way to the hospital. Does not talk to the police officer who found her, nor the doctors who examine her. Completely, _deathly_ silent. No sound comes from her and her eyes stay unfocused, as if she’s daydreaming.

But there’s nothing physically wrong with her. So she is instructed to stay the night at least while they wait for further blood test results. Visitation rights are not permitted to anyone but immediate family, but that’s never stopped him before.

Donna wakes in the middle of the night and turns her head to the side. Oliver Queen sits beside her hospital bed, eyes red, posture tense. But it’s the look on his face that makes her pause. He’s apprehensive. Wary. He doesn’t want to ask the same question she’s been asking herself since she came to her senses hours ago.

Her voice is hoarse and it cracks from both disuse and emotion as she says “I don’t know if she’s still alive.”

Oliver crumples then, all the taut lines of his body folding in on themselves as his face drops into his hands and he lets out a wretched sob.

****

You’d think the H.I.V.E headquarters would be easier to find, Felicity thinks, considering how fucking gigantic it is.

Every day she is escorted to different parts of the H.I.V.E facility. Sometimes they let her walk freely, either in-between guards or with one walking ahead and one behind. (Never without a guard though. A lot of them aren’t even noticeably armed most of the time which, Felicity thinks, is kind of insulting- but also kind of terrifying because hey! That probably means they don’t even need a weapon to kill her, yippee.) Felicity likes those days though. She tries to drink in as much as she can; what corridors lead to where, familiar faces (or masks), whether they look like they want to kill her or not. Normal things. This is, after all, her place of residence (not home, never home.) for the foreseeable future. Is it not reasonable that she should get to see as much as she can?

Damien Darhk apparently doesn’t think so, the prick.

The familiar black bag is ripped off her head as the two guards drop her unceremoniously onto the cold tile. Always with the tile. There’s countless professional murderers, assassins, and spies working for this organisation yet evidently they can’t hire a carpenter, Felicity really hates this place.

“Ms Smoak.” Darhk’s voice is smooth and soft, yet somehow reverberates throughout the hall they’re in, echoing off the tile. “Enjoying your stay with us?”

“Not particularly.” Felicity replies. She probably shouldn’t have spoken at all, but she’s never been good at holding her tongue, especially for the benefit of a man.

Damien simply smirks, his face splitting, as he slides from his chair (a modified office chair not unlike the one in the Arrow Cave; Felicity is kind of annoyed her interior decorating tastes are similar to that of a mass murderer, what even is her life?) and slinks down the few steps to where she’s kneeling. The man doesn’t move like he’s human. But after everything he’s done is he even comparable to one?


	3. house of memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post 4x09 ficlet. felicity's struggle to recover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written pre 4x09 airing and was meant to be...much longer... but that's why this is a collection of unfinished works!!! bc im a piece of shit!!!

When Donna heads back to Vegas she leaves Felicity a large box of photographs.

“The doctor said looking at pictures might help you remember, sweetie.” Donna whispers into her daughter’s hair, “There’s a lot from before you were born as well, I know how much you loved looking at your father’s travels.”

Felicity nods minutely against her mother’s collarbone, and does not lift her arms to hug her back.

* * *

_“Doesn’t the engagement ring count as my final Hanukkah gift?”_

_“It’s part of it.”_

_“You do realise the whole ‘shower Felicity with gifts’ thing isn’t necessary right? I’m not going to run off with the chauffeur. Although you’d think with what he’s getting paid seducing one of his customers wouldn’t really be necessary.”_

_“It might be. You are priceless, after all.”_

_“… and here I thought the proposal speech was sappy.”_

_“Hey!”_

_“I’m joking, you know I love yo- “_

_“FELICITY!”_

* * *

“Are you allowed to drink yet?” Laurel asks as she unpacks a feast of takeout onto the coffee table.

“No, not yet.” Felicity says quietly, picking at the hem of her t-shirt.

Laurel considers her for a moment more; head cocked and worry furrowing her brow, before heading to the loft’s kitchen.

“Guess its lemonade for the both of us then huh?”


	4. father father, what have you done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felicity denies a fundamental part of herself in the hopes of being happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another fic intended to either have damien darhk or his right hand man as felicity's father. but this one could be read as being about noah i guess

Out of all the belongings her father leaves when he drives out of Vegas, she only keeps the handmade military style bayonet when it is her turn to leave the desert behind.

There were things of greater value, he had travelled the world over and had accumulated many possessions as a consequence. Books, jewellery, stationary lined with gold, books, a little collection of ceramic cats with shining gemstone eyes, _books._ But the only thing of her fathers that travels with her from Vegas to Massachusetts, from Massachusetts to Seattle is the sharp black knife with an amethyst embedded in the handle.

After she moves into her townhouse it stays in a small security box at the back of her closet. Underneath the first hard drive she had made herself and pictures of friends and family, most of whom she can’t bring herself to talk to anymore, but their pictures remain; and so does the knife. Not forgotten, just pushed aside.

Much like the man who left it behind.

* * *

Felicity hums softly as calloused fingers dance up her side, his wandering arm casting dark shadows. The beachside villa they’ve rented has large windows that let the moonlight paint the room and their skin blue and black and white. They’re both dancing on the edge of sleep now and that tends to make people daring in their talk, more open, more raw without even realizing it.

Oliver had been opening up to her, slowly, but surely. Casting aside jaggedly cut bricks forged in fires of years of betrayal and torture. Tonight, he has whispered stories about his father into her neck, voice as soft and light as the unstoppable movement of his fingers against her side.

(No matter how far they sink into the blissful experience of finally being together, he could never stop moving. She didn’t mind, was often the same in her movements. Except her need to move was somewhat genetic, his was consequence.)

He had been quiet for a while now, and Felicity’s eyes were drifting closed with increasing heaviness when he whispers;

“Do you still think about him a lot? Your dad?”

It’s an innocent question, if not one Oliver would probably never had asked had he been fully awake, so she pauses and thinks. Thinks of all the times she’s reminded of him, of his absence, of their similarities. Despite the seventeen years that have passed since they last saw each other Felicity knows she has inherited many of his quirks. She has his eyes, his hair colour, his thirst for knowledge and inability to keep still for long periods of time. Thinks of how he would always know what she was trying to say, thinks of the confused stares she gets from other people when she babbles now. Thinks of Parents Week in freshman year when she and her mother sat across the table from one of her teachers, the empty chair between them speaking volumes about the state of their relationship and hinting at the reason for the fallout. Thinks of her reflection. Of how she used to struggle to look in a mirror, how some days she still can’t meet her own eyes in the glass.

The answer is yes, “No.” Felicity whispers, “Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler: she was going to kill her dad with the knife in the end dun dun dunnnnnnn


End file.
